


it's getting hot in here

by screwsfallout



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Heat Stroke, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 11:55:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1346551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screwsfallout/pseuds/screwsfallout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras gets heat stroke. </p><p>There's a pun about Grantaire being hot for Enjolras somewhere here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's getting hot in here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [juliabaccari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliabaccari/gifts).



> Dedicated to my R, Sonja. This is not beta read, I'm so sorry.

Enjolras is exhausted.  His skin feels tight and oversensitive. His lips feel like they are cracking apart.  It’s been three days of constant activity. Between holding off the authorities with proof of permits, fielding press, and delivering speeches -- well, even simply standing seems too taxing.  

He knows he’s dehydrated. It’s almost impossible not to be, really, with the way the sun has been burning for the past few days.  And they’ve been outside constantly. Combeferre and Joly are diligent about making sure there is enough water for everyone.  In fact, Combeferre has made it a personal mission to constantly shove water bottles in Enjolras’ hands at every and any opportunity.  

In his defense, Enjolras has been drinking water, just not enough.  He’s been getting sidetracked with small emergencies, especially today. There was a minor altercation between a few protesters earlier.  Nothing major, thankfully.  It was an isolated incident, one that Enjolras and Courfeyrac had managed to contain quickly, but it had thrown off the timetable and Enjolras is still scrambling to make sure everything stays on schedule.

“Here.” Enjolras looks up from his phone, and has to squint against the bright glare for a second to see Grantaire frowning at him and holding a bottle of water.    
  
Enjolras makes no effort to grab the bottle and R shoves it in his spare hand. “Drink this, please.”

He takes it and places it on a table. “I will, in a moment.”

Grantaire gives a small sigh, but doesn't move.

“You don’t need to stand guard, I’m not a child.”

“I swear to God…” Grantaire lets out another huff.  “Look, Combeferre is about to have a fit, so for all our sakes, just drink the damn water.”

Enjolras’ hand twitches and he takes a grounding breath, reminding himself that his friends are only looking out for his well-being. He sips the water, which aches going down his throat.

“Happy?”

“Thrilled,” Grantaire says, straight-faced.

Before he gets the chance to take another large gulp, Jehan comes by with the reporter from MSNBC, and Enjolras has to step away.  His head is aching dully.  His tongue feels heavy in his mouth.  There are things to be done.

* **  
**

A few hours later, Enjolras prepares to address the crowds.  There is a small stage, just high enough to make himself seen. Everyone has amassed to hear him. Normally Enjolras thrives on the energy of a crowd. He lives to engage with the people, to spread awareness of privilege and injustice. Today, he feels unfocused. Hazy.

Grantaire watches Enjolras climb on stage.  The crowd quiets, simply from his presence.  It’s an amazing thing to behold.  Enjolras seems as godly as ever. The sun streams behind him, like a halo. He looks beautiful and dangerous.

Enjolras starts to speak, his voice rough with conviction.  To the crowd, he must seem perfect. Infallible. Normally, that’s how Enjolras appears to Grantaire as well.  However, Grantaire can see past the facade when he chooses. And he’s worried.

Enjolras is pale while he should be flushed. His lips are cracked. And he speaks as well as always, but slower, with less crispness than usual. He’s moving slowly, and sparingly. And it’s not just Grantaire, Combeferre is standing like a taught spring on the edge of the stage, waiting, like he might need to jump in.  

Grantaire barely hears the speech, because he is too focused watching Enjolras’ hands tremor.

Enjolras is able to make it off the stage when he’s done, somehow. He gets to the back steps, out of sight, and his knees promptly buckle. He attempts to sit down gracefully. In reality, Enjolras endures what can only be his legs giving out beneath him.  Combeferre is quickly at his side.

“Are you alright?” It’s a cursory question at this point. 

“I’m just a little...uhm, fine yes, I’m just...quite warm.” His voice is thready. Grantaire and Courfeyrac quickly make their way over as well.  Grantaire is alarmed to hear the confusion in Enjolras’ voice. It’s an out of place sound.

Combeferre grabs Enjolras’ wrist and pauses.  “His pulse is fast, and his temperature is elevated.” 

“What’s that mean?” Courf asks, with a frown.

“It means we need to get him out of the sun right away.” Combeferre puts an arm around Enjolras and hauls him up.  “Grantaire, if you would be so kind?  
  
Grantaire immediately jumps to the other side, helping steady him. “Jesus Apollo, you’re like a furnace.”

Enjolras protests, his voice weak. “You don’t have to...I’ll be alright just give me a second.”

Combeferre is about 300 percent done with his best friend right now, and ignores him completely. “Courf could you pull around your car?  Start blasting the air conditioning.”

Courfeyrac takes off immediately. Combeferre and Grantaire manage to move Enjolras to the shade, under a cluster of trees.  He’s unsteady in their arms.  Combeferre grabs a bottle and gently tilts some water into Enjolras’ mouth. He does this a few more times and then lays Enjolras down. Combeferre hands the rest of the water bottle and a few napkins to Grantaire.    
  
“This isn’t much, but see if you can wipe him down. I’m going to get Joly.”

Grantaire would not assign himself many admirable qualities, but the one thing he will acknowledge is his ability to cooperate in high stress situations.  He bases that entirely on all the times the Amis have had to deal with a medical emergency in the middle of a protest. Or during a bar fight.  Or simply when they’re watching movies, for that matter. They tend to have a lot of accidents.

Grantaire nods dutifully at Combeferre, who immediately rushes off.

“It’s totally not a big deal,” Enjolras slurs.

“It totally is. Especially since you deigned to grace us with mortal language, like the word totally, which I have never, ever heard you use in any type of conversation.”

Grantaire wets the napkins.  He brushes them against Enjolras’ cheeks, across his shoulders, and down his arms.  Droplets of water streak across his skin and Grantaire tries very hard not to be distracted by this.

“I don’t wanna be wet.” Enjolras says.  
  
“Too bad.” Grantaire replies, pouring water on more napkins.

“It’s really warm, R.”  
  
“Yes, well.” Grantaire was worried before, but now he’s on high alert. Enjolras’ eyes are fluttering and he truly doesn’t sound like himself. “It’s 90 degrees outside.”

Grantaire feels like he’s burning up himself, yet his hands are cool against Enjolras’ bare skin.  He has fantasized about a moment where he might be permitted to explore every inch of Enjolras. Now his friend is shirtless and pliant and all Grantaire can do is worry.

“This isn’t quite how I imagined it,” Grantaire grumbles, hoping the wet napkins are doing some good.

“Imagined what?” Enjolras asks, slowly.

“Nothing, you’re hallucinating.”

“No, ‘m not.”

“Jesus, do you have to be so difficult? You’re on the way to heat stroke and you still can’t shut up.”

“My mom used to say I was incorrigible,” Enjolras says. His eyes flutter shut again, and Grantaire taps at his cheeks.

“Hey, none of that. Stay awake.”

It takes a few tries for Enjolras to keep his eyes open. He finally focuses back on Grantaire,

“It’s funny that you call me Apollo,” he says with a slur.

“Why, because you got yourself sun sick?” Grantaire asks. He’s run out of water, and rests one hand on Enjolras’ shoulder, hoping to ground him.

“No, ‘cuz you’re the one with sun in your hair,” Enjolras says, lifting a heavy hand to pat Grantaire’s sweaty curls.

Grantaire’s pulse speeds up, not out of flattery but out of fear. Enjolras has never spoken like this, not even when he was drunk off too much gin and nostalgia last New Year’s Eve.

“Ohhhhkay no more talking. Just - rest.”

“But you said not to sleep.” Enjolras argues languidly, his eyes closing once again.

“Rest, not sleep.”  Grantaire touches Enjolras’ cheeks, trying to keep him awake. “I know this is a foreign concept for you.”

“I’m burning.” Enjolras says. He feels consumed. Every inch of him is ablaze. He could catch on fire. He could catch the world on fire.

Enjolras starts shifting in Grantaire’s grip. He twists to get away from an invisible flame.

Grantaire holds him closer, one hand on Enjolras’ forehead and the other on his chest.

“Be still.” Grantaire says. “Think about winter. Think of the snow.”

Enjolras tries to imagine himself laying in the snow. He imagines a cool breeze, blowing through him. He imagines white. But he’s melting what’s around him.

As Enjolras loses consciousness, he imagines turning everything red.   **  
**

* **  
**

From then on, it’s all a blur.  
  
His next lucid moment is waking up in the hospital, with ice packs and an IV. 

Combeferre sits next to him.  

He falls back asleep. **  
**

* **  
**

After several hours in the ER, Enjolras is discharged.  Combeferre and Courfeyrac escort him home. He can barely keep his eyes open. He’s in the car, and he’s on Courf’s couch, and then he’s asleep again. **  
**

* **  
**

Enjolras wakes up to the air conditioner blasting, and Grantaire sitting across from him reading People magazine.

“Congratulations, you’ve chosen the trashiest publication in the apartment.”  Enjolras’ voice is still thready and strange, but he’s able to judge Grantaire, so.  That’s always a sign of improvement.

“Hello, sleeping beauty. Nice to see you forming full sentences again.”

Almost immediately, Enjolras feels shame rush across his skin. The afternoon comes back in flashes. He remembers being carried like some nineteenth century consumptive to Courfeyrac’s car.

“How are you feeling?” Grantaire asks, after a moment.

“Fine.”

Grantaire truly could strangle him.

“Want to try that again?”

Enjolras sits up with as much strength as he can muster. It’s not an impressive display.

“I am fine. It was a minor episode.”

Grantaire snorts. “I’m not the bearer of all medical knowledge, but I’m fairly sure they don’t admit people for minor episodes.”

Enjolras sighs. His chest aches with pride. There’s not enough room in his ribcage for all the embarrassment echoing there. He feels weak which is, perhaps, his least favorite feeling.

“Everyone made it into a much larger issue than it should have been.”

“Oh really?”

Enjolras tampers the scathing remark he’d prefer to make, and instead just says, “Really.”

“You’re lucky they released you at all. Guess who’s being babysat for the next 24 hours?!”

“No.”

“Oh yes.”

Enjolras gets that inexplicable, crippling feeling in his stomach. The one that means he has done poorly on an exam, or just spoken to his father, or that he has fallen asleep at his desk again.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“I do.”  Grantaire says, with a little too much glee. “And guess who else does - Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Jehan, Eponine -"  
  
“You don’t have to provide me with a list.”  
  
“Just being thorough.”  
  
Enjolras frowns.  There is so much that has to be done. 

“And before you ask about the rally, it’s handled.”

Instead of being reassured, Enjolras looks up, his eyes flashing.

“Was I seen?” He asks, a bit frantic.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Was I seen passing out?” Enjolras sits up, and his head immediately pounds. Grantaire pushes him back down onto the couch.

“No. It’s alright. Your dignity remains intact.” Grantaire says lightly, grinning.

“It’s not a joke. I can’t be seen as a liability. I have to remain poised and ready for the public. I can’t be -”

“What, human?” Grantaire’s smile dims. “You’re human, Enjolras. I know I may call you Apollo, but you can’t take that to heart.”

Enjolras huffs.

“You’re allowed imperfection.” Grantaire says.

“No.” Enjolras replies

“Yes. With friends. And with me.”

There’s something in Grantaire’s voice that makes Enjolras look up again.

“Why did you make a distinction?” Enjolras asks, after a moment.  

“Because we’re not really friends, are we?”

“I thought we were. I mean, we are. Of course we are.”

They’re both quiet.  Enjolras opens his mouth to speak again, except Joly comes in fussing, ready to take his Enjolras babysitting shift and all of a sudden Grantaire is just gone.

Enjolras feels strange. But not from the heatstroke. From something else. **  
**

* **  
**

Enjolras falls back to sleep again, still exhausted and worn down.  When he wakes up, it’s dark. Courfeyrac is brewing coffee.

Enjolras fumbles for his phone, which is resting on the sidetable.  He checks the time. 2 AM.

“Courf,” he says. His voice is scratchier than it was earlier. His throat hurts, but he feels better overall. His head no longer aches like it is trapped in a vice. His limbs are looser now.

“Hello!” Courfeyrac makes his way into the living room,and sits at the edge of the couch, pulling Enjolras’ feet into his lap. “I didn’t expect you to wake up. You’ve barely twitched these past few hours.”  
  
Enjolras shrugs. “You don’t have to stay with me”

“Au contraire, mon cher. You know I do. Don’t be difficult.”

There’s no use arguing, really. And Courf isn’t bad company. Still, he feels coddled, which sends twinges of annoyance down his spine.

“It’s not like I have a concussion, I’m fine now.”

Courfeyrac ignores him.

Enjolras starts answering emails with no regard to the time, and Courf just sips his coffee.

About a half hour passes when Enjolras pauses and clears his throat. “Earlier. Grantaire said...he mentioned that he thought we weren’t friends? I was wondering if you might clarify that. I know we argue a lot. I just thought. Well, I thought we were friends. Am I the only one who thinks so?”

Enjolras is clearly uncomfortable. He puts down his phone, and his hands are fidgeting. He’s not generally one for fidgeting.

Courfeyrac finds this is the second time today he’s confronted with a version of Enjolras that he’s unaccustomed to.

“It’s complicated.” Courf answers.

“Don’t mince your words. If I’m that terrible of a friend to him, you might as well say it. I know I’m bad at showing affection.”

“That’s not it.”  
  
“Then what ?”  Enjolras asks. He grabs the glass of water next to him and takes a few small sips.  “I’m sorry. Nevermind. It’s not a big deal.”

Courfeyrac hesitates. On one hand, his best friend is clearly upset. On the other hand, this is so not his secret to tell.

“It’s not really my place to say.” He answers finally. “You should probably just ask Grantaire.”  
  
“I tried to,” Enjolras counters. “He ran away.”

Courfeyrac laugh in spite of himself. “That rat bastard.”

“Maybe I’m dreaming.” Enjolras mutters. “Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and this will all have been some horrible stress nightmare.”

“Good luck with that, Enj,” Courf says. “Now go back to sleep.”

He does. **  
**

* **  
**

When Enjolras wakes up, he is blessedly alone. He can move without his muscles screaming in protest. His head is clear. This is the most rest he’s had in a while.

He checks his phone and finds a few texts, mostly from Combeferre telling him to take it easy, and to call with any problems. A picture of himself, from Courf, where he’s drooling on a pillow. Lovely. Nothing from Grantaire.

For some reason, that makes his chest feel heavy.

* **  
**

A few days later, Enjolras stands in front of Grantaire’s apartment door and knocks three times.  R comes to the door with bedhead. He runs a hand through the dark, messy curls and yawns.  Enjolras feels flushed.

“Oh hello. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I want you to know that I think you’re important. To the group. And to me. Personally.”

“Oh...kay…” Grantaire grabs Enjolras by the wrist and drags him inside. “Are you delirious again? Should I call Combeferre.” He’s only half joking.

“Don’t patronize me. I’m trying to communicate feelings.” Enjolras says the word feelings like it is an infectious disease. His palms are clammy.

Enjolras knows he likes Grantaire. Romantically. Sexually, even. But he’s never told anyone, and he rarely allows himself to even entertain the idea. It’s secondary to the work he does. And it’s unrealistic.  They both constantly antagonize each other. But if Enjolras has let his affections affect their friendship, than he feels he needs to fix the situation. Even if it’s awkward.

“Am I having a stroke?” Grantaire asks.

Enjolras frowns, because this is not a joke. In fact, this small conversation is incredibly difficult for him. He feels small and very, very human.

“Please try to focus.” Enjolras says. “I’m not going to say this again. I like you. Sometimes as more than a friend. I know this probably puts you in an uncomfortable position and I apologize. I never would have told you, but I think I’ve overcompensated by ignoring you and giving you the wrong idea.”  
  
Enjolras’ voice is steady, but stilted. His fingers twitch against his corduroy pants.  
  
Grantaire looks shell-shocked.

“I don’t expect you to reciprocate or anything. I just wanted to let you know.”

Grantaire hasn’t moved a muscle. His eyebrows are drawn inward.

Enjolras’ tongue feels like lead. His mouth tastes sour. His throat is coated with regret.

“Okay. Well, I’ll see you later then.”

He turns around and walks out the door.

Grantaire stares. And stares. And stares, and - 

“Wait!” He unsticks his feet and rushes out into the hall. Enjolras is halfway in the elevator.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Grantaire stalks toward him. “You’ve got to be, I mean you’ve really got to be joking. Are you joking? You’re joking.”  
  
Enjolras opens his mouth to respond and then closes it. He finally says, “No?”

“No?! Are you sure? Because there is no way you don’t know I’m in love with you. Like, head over heels. I call you Apollo. I literally named you after a Greek God.”

“I didn’t…Uh, no. I did not catch on.”

“I’m going to strangle you.” Grantaire says, pulling Enjolras away from the elevator.

“Uhm,” Enjolras says.

“Shut up.” Grantaire says. He pushes Enjolras against the wall.

There are a few very tense moments where Enjolras is unsure of whether Grantaire is actually going to strangle him.

“Can I kiss you?” R asks instead. “I need you to say yes.”

“Yes,” Enjolras says.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Enjolras says again. “Kiss me.”

Grantaire kisses him. ****

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr if ya want: [wise-up-eyes-up](http://wise-up-eyes-up.tumblr.com)


End file.
